The Gift
by Verdreht
Summary: It's Saito's second anniversary, and he wants to give his lover something to mark the occasion. Unfortunately, things don't quite go as planned. When Sano is injured, Saito is left to look after him, learning in the process that Saito's not the only one with a gift to give.
1. Chapter 1

Saito Hajime was not a romantic. He hadn't been with Tokio – the only flowers he'd ever given her were the ones he'd laid at her grave – and that hadn't changed for the moron that had stubbornly wormed his way into Saito's life.

Only…the weight in the pocket of his trousers said otherwise. A charm: some silly trinket he'd caught Sano eyeing in the market. It wasn't much, but as compared to the idiotic requests Sano himself had given, it seemed far more fitting a gift for such an occasion.

It was his second anniversary with Sanosuke – two years since the moron had finally worked up the guts to blabber out a confession – and though Saito maintained he wasn't a romantic, he wasn't ignorant to the importance of such a thing. A disturbance in Hakodate had taken him away from the last one; he preferred not to miss this one, on principle.

The moron, on the other hand….

He'd drifted by all his young lover's usual slums, but to no avail. Even the occupants of the Kamiya dojo, when he'd stopped by, had been no help. Given the occasion, it struck him as odd; they seemed the type to celebrate things like this, and Sanosuke was certainly not one to pass up free food and bad sake. The more he searched, however, from one end of town to the other, the more he came to realize that Sanosuke was nowhere to be found.

How irritating.

To add to his incense, he'd only just left the rundown shack that constituted Sano's home when the sky seemed to open up. He'd smelled the storm coming hours before, but he'd hoped to find his moron before it became an issue.

Clearly, he wouldn't be so lucky.

The dense, chilly rain soaked through the fabric of Saito's uniform in a matter of seconds, puddling on the streets as people hurried this way and that trying to escape it. Saito couldn't be bothered. This day had been troublesome, and with the last of his patience exhausted, Saito resigned himself to returning home. The moron would find him soon enough; he'd give him his gift then.

The rain gave no sign of slacking off as Saito neared his home. If anything, it had gotten heavier, so much so that he could barely make out the form sitting on the porch.

When he did, though, the corner of his lip twitched. There was no mistaking the comb of hair, so much like a rooster even after it had been subdued by the rains. The tall, lean figure leaning against the column by the stairs was one he knew by heart, in waking and in dreams.

It seemed he'd found his moron after all.

"You look like a drowned rat."

Hazel eyes blinked open, slowly rising to Saito's face with a glazed confusion that could only come from sleep interrupted. He blinked a few times, but to Saito's admitted supply, he didn't throw back a retort. Instead, he dragged a hand across his eyes, leaning his head back against the column to get a better look at Saito as he climbed up the stairs.

"Well?" Saito said. "Are you coming in, or not?"

That seemed to snap Sano out of his sleepy daze, and as Saito continued on into the house, he heard Sano pushing himself to his feet behind him. He left the door open for him, occupying himself instead with shrugging out of his wet coat and padding into his room.

Scowling, he peeled off his undershirt and gloves, each sticking to his skin with the rain infuriatingly. His socks hadn't escaped the fate, nor his trousers, and he had to hang each article of clothing over the tub. With any luck, they would dry before the next day. In the meantime, he changed into a dry set of trousers and a shirt. As an afterthought, however, he picked out another pair. No doubt they'd be too big for the beanpole fighter, but at least they'd be dry.

Clothes folded over his arm, Saito made it back into the main room, where he half expected to see Sano wringing out his soggy clothes all over the floor or something equally uncouth. But when he walked in…

The room was empty.

Beyond that, other than his own footprints, there weren't any traces that anyone had even stepped foot in the house. A frown pulled at his lips; perhaps Sano had decided to leave? But such a thing didn't make sense. Sanosuke was a moron, but he wasn't enough of one to come all this way, nearly to the other side of town, just to greet Saito on his front porch and leave. To be honest, Saito had somewhat assumed the rooster-head was going to at least bum a meal. That was more his style.

However, a few steps more into the room and his curiosity was sated. The door was still open, and standing outside it, still dripping from head to toe, was the moron himself.

Relieved as he was to see Sano hadn't left – not because it would've upset him, of course, but because it would've been a bother having to hold onto that charm any longer – his frown deepened as, for the first time, he took in the sight of his young lover.

It was bad enough that the man was drenched, but now bathed in the light from the candles inside, he looked rather worse for wear as well. Saito could see his left eye, once obscured by his sodden hair, was shaded with blue and green, and the white of it was nearly all red. A burst blood vessel, then. His jaw hosted a similar blotch of color, and to Saito's trained eyes, there seemed to be something off with his stance.

"Moron."

Sano barely seemed to rise to the insult, giving off more of a sulk than his usual righteous indignation. "Why am I a moron this time?" he muttered.

"An intelligent person would have come inside out of the rain," Saito said, laying the dry clothes across the table before he rose to approach his soggy rooster.

"I didn't want to get your floor wet."

That was…strangely considerate, for Sanosuke. It was enough to take the frown from Saito's face, and he let out a sigh that was _almost_ fond. "Come here, moron."

When Sano made no move to do so, Saito grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him a few steps inside the door. He didn't pull him very hard, but Sano still stumbled, enough that he had to catch his shoulders and right him.

More and more, something about this didn't sit right.

With deft fingers, he reached for Sano's chin, taking hold of it even as Sano flinched back. A fighter's reflexes didn't lend themselves well to having a hand move quickly towards one's face, so Saito wouldn't take offense. Instead, he devoted his focus – and his other hand – to brushing some of the hair out of Sano's face.

"What're you doing?" Sano said, failing to keep the nerves out of his voice. Saito knew his gaze could be intense, but he wouldn't be deterred.

Brushing his thumb lightly over the bruised flesh around Sano's eye, Saito forced his mask of composure to stay in place. Someone had damaged what was his; someone had hurt Sanosuke, and that was unacceptable. "What happened?" His voice sounded cold, but there was a fire in his belly.

Sano's almond gaze faltered, but then he smiled that crooked smile that was just a little too carefree to be genuine. "Just a tussle with some nobodies," he said.

"You're lying." But Saito let go of his chin just the same and passed Sano to get his coat from beside the open door.

"Where're you going?"

Saito didn't pause in shrugging on his coat. "I'm assuming you haven't eaten."

"Well, no, but—" Sano scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"Stop standing there soaking my floor and go change. I'll be back soon." And with one last glance back at the rooster-head, he picked up his umbrella and stepped outside.


	2. Chapter 2

Saito returned to his home some fifteen or twenty minutes later, umbrella in one hand and two bento boxes from the restaurant down the road in the other. The lights were still on in his house, and he was pleased to note that there were no shady figures sitting on the porch this time. Perhaps the moron had finally gotten his wits about him and dried himself off.

As he stepped inside, however, he found he might have been too optimistic.

In the corner of the room, curled up and still in his wet clothes, Sano appeared to have fallen asleep. With a knee tucked to his chest and his head resting in his arm atop it, he was the picture of casual slumber.

Only, as Saito walked over to the table to put the bento boxes down, he started to stir. The shock of burnt cinnamon hair lifted, revealing a pair of eyes that were far too unfocused for Saito's liking. The swelling in his left one had already worsened, leaving the almond orb little more than a sliver amidst the angry purple bruise.

In short, Sano looked like shit.

"I thought I told you to change," Saito remarked idly as he set out the boxes on the table.

Behind him, Sano sniffed – sniff_led_, more like; perhaps he'd caught cold, because wouldn't that be the moron's luck? – and with a groan, he pushed himself up onto his bare feet. At least he'd gotten that far, Saito decided.

"Guess I dozed off," Sano said. He sounded casual enough, to the untrained ear. But Saito was many things; untrained was not among them. He could hear the strain, the reedy edge to it, and it was enough to draw his attention back around to him. Turning, he saw Sano start forward towards the table.

He didn't even make it one step.

Sano had barely managed to shift any weight onto his left foot, stretched out no more than a few inches, before it seemed to buckle beneath him. He pitched forward, a look of surprise and pain spread in equal parts across his face.

In an instant, Saito was on his feet and moving. "Moron!" he roared, and it was all he could do to catch his falling lover with an arm around his shoulders. Instead of trying to hold him up, though – it was best to go with gravity, rather than trying to fight against it – he carefully lowered Sano to the ground.

Or, at least, he tried.

"Get off me!"

For a moment, Saito had thought Sano was unconscious; he thought perhaps he'd fainted. But no, he'd no sooner gotten a hold on the wiry young fighter than Sano was shoving him away. He managed to hold onto him just long enough that it wasn't a long way to the floor, but after that, it was out of Saito's hands; holding on any tighter could risk doing more harm than good, especially if there was something more than fatigue at work. Something more troublesome, more severe.

Besides, knowing Sano, holding him any tighter would just make him struggle harder to get loose. The stubborn punk.

Granted, it being the logical option didn't make it any easier to stomach the dull thud of Sano's body hitting the floor or the grunt that broke from his lips when it did. It didn't make it any easier to stomach the pained grimace twisting his face.

The younger man had fallen onto his side, and with some effort, he rolled forward onto his front and tried to push himself up. Saito went to help, but Sano jerked his shoulder away.

"I said get off—"

Sano's protest ended abruptly in a yelp as Saito flicked him in the ear. "I heard what you said, moron. Now stop being a brat and let me help you." And before Sano could get over his surprise, Saito reached under his chest, and with another hand braced on his back between his shoulder blades, he started to pull Sano over onto his back. He could get a look at him properly that way.

Only, he'd barely moved him more than an inch or two when Sano let out a rasped cry. "Stop," Sano choked out. He'd lifted a hand from the tatami mat beneath him to grip Saito's arm tightly, and if the strength of the grip was any indication of the pain Sano was in, then Saito certainly had reason for alarm. "My leg – it's—" The rest of the words were lost behind a growl, forced through teeth gritted in pain.

He couldn't move him back, then. He'd have to roll him over, and try to keep his leg – the left, if observation served – as still as possible. It wasn't going to be pleasant, but it was necessary. "Try to breathe evenly. Relax your muscles."

"Easy for you to say, bas—"

Saito rolled Sano over onto his back and tried to ignore the scream that Sano only barely managed to hold behind his teeth. Sano tried to keep going, to curl up on his side as if he could make himself small enough to hide from the pain, and it took every ounce of steel in Saito's soul to pin the younger man's shoulders down to the mat.

"Sano, calm down," he said firmly. But Sano wasn't listening. His breaths came shorter; his whole body was tense. If he kept going like he was, he was going to pass out, and until Saito knew what was wrong with him, he didn't want that to happen. So, mindful of the bruises on the left side of Sano's face, he put a hand on each of his cheeks and forced his head straight. "Open your eyes, Sanosuke, and look at me. _Now_."

It seemed a simple enough request, but Saito knew better. He could feel the heat of Sano's skin; he was running a high fever. That, with his wounds, were no doubt clouding his mind, and the swelling over his eye had nearly forced it closed entirely.

But then he saw it: a sliver of hazel. A glazed eye, intense and fever-bright, stared up at him, and the sheer depth of emotions behind the single orb was nearly enough to crack even Saito's unwavering composure.

He held it in place; panic only complicated things, and things were quite complicated enough. "I need you to tell me what happened," he said, and when Sano's eye started to slip closed – he was losing consciousness, damn it – he tapped him sharply on the cheek. "Eyes open, moron. I'll tell you when it's time to sleep."

"Pushy bastard." The words seemed to take tremendous effort, but Sano kept his eye open, and his breathing even managed to steady a little bit. He'd raised a hand to his hair, fisting it in the brown locks like he was trying to ground himself, and the corners of his lip had pulled up into a strained incarnation of his usual roguish smile.

Saito almost smiled back. The kid was stubborn, irritating, and moronic at his best, but he was strong. He had spirit; it was what had drawn Saito to him in the first place. Even injured and clearly in incredible pain, he had it in him to smile like he was fine.

"You didn't answer my question."

The smile faltered. Had he really forgotten so quickly?

"What happened, Sano? Tell me what happened." If he sounded harsh, it couldn't be helped. He needed to understand the situation. From there, he could respond to it appropriately.

It took Sano a moment. He tried to sit up, to shrug it off, but Saito took a hand from his cheek to hold his shoulder to the mat. Kneeling over him, he had Sano under his complete control. He could understand the position was less than ideal, but he needed to keep him still.

"Fucking Ishimanji," Sano ground out at last. "Making trouble – things got…rough."

"You mean to tell me you couldn't handle a few thugs?" Perhaps it wasn't the best time, but if that was the case, he and Sano were going to have to have words.

But then, even beat to hell and with one eye swollen shut, Sano managed a glower. "Screw you." He started to sit up again, and once again, Saito held him in place.

"You're not getting up, so stop trying," Saito said. "And if the thugs didn't do this, then what did?"

"Canon." Sano took a breath, and Saito could hear the strain. With Sano's jacket hanging open to his sides, the bruises on his ribs were exposed. "They had a canon, and—" He winced, curling an arm around his belly.

Saito felt ice in his veins. The moron – _his_ moron – had tried to take on a fucking canon? Not even considering the thugs themselves, such a thing was dangerous. And if it had hit him—

"Were you hit?" Saito said, his tone clipped and his voice maybe just a little loud. Sano didn't answer immediately, and that only tightened the knot coiling in the pit of Saito's stomach. "Moron, I said _were you hit_?"

Sano let out a noise that Saito couldn't decide was a groan or a growl. "The fuck do you think?" Even in agony and half-conscious, he still had it in him to swear like a sailor. Saito didn't know whether to be annoyed or relieved.

"I think you're a fool, and I think if you move while I'm gone, I'll kill you myself." Fair warning given, Saito pushed himself to his feet and sprinted out of his house. He didn't even bother with his umbrella or coat; he didn't even put his shoes on properly. He just ran out onto the porch, combing the crowds with his eyes until—yes!

"Messenger!" His voice pierced the howling winds and heavy rains like his infamous Gatotsu, and he watched the young man in question come running up to his stairs. He met him there. "Fetch a doctor. Have one here within the hour."

"My payment, sir?"

Saito could've kicked himself – his wallet was still in his room, hanging somewhere in his clothing. He didn't have time to run and get it, and even if he did, he'd spent what he kept on hand on—

The charm.

Silently cursing the deity responsible for this miserable turn of events, Saito reached into his pocket and roughly shoved the charm into the messenger's hungry hand. "Hurry," he said through clenched teeth, and the messenger could hardly take off fast enough.

Saito hoped for his sake he returned with a doctor soon.

When Saito made it back inside, he was both surprised and troubled to find that Sano had, in fact, done as told. It was not in Sanosuke's nature to be obedient, or really anything short of pig-headedly obstinate.

Stopping only long enough to gather a few things, Saito resumed his place next to Sano on the floor. "Hey," he said, and after a second passed with no response, he tried again, more insistently. "_Hey_, rooster-head, I tell you when to sleep, remember?"

"Go 'way," Sano grumbled. Both his arms had fallen to his stomach, and his breath came in labored pants. The fall, it seemed, had taken a toll on him; he was in worse shape than he'd been on the porch.

Frowning, Saito pulled the futon and blankets he'd gathered from under his arm and spread them out directly beside the younger man. As far as he could tell, though painful, Sano's wounds were not life-threatening: some broken ribs, a black eye, and perhaps a broken leg – though, now that he had taken to looking, he wasn't sure he liked the tattered look of the bandages on Sano's right hand, nor the way he seemed to cradle it in his other arm.

At any rate, if Sano could stand to be moved a few feet, then he wanted to get him onto the futon. The floor was cold from the winter winds, and Sano was already taking ill, if the fever was any indication. He needed to get him out of his sodden clothes and settled on something warmer.

"Can you move?"

Sano prized an eye open to stare at him for a second before letting it slide back with a huff. "Depends," he said in a terse voice. "We talking wiggling a finger or anything—ow! Damn it!" It seemed his left arm and his foul mouth were in working order, because he cupped his hand over his abused ear and shot off his mouth in usual form. "Where do you get off…off hitting an injured man?"

"You're a lot of things, and not many of them good, but I never took you for a whiner."

Sano's busted lip pulled down into a scowl. "Bastard. Fine then!" Bracing his arm good arm on the mat, he started to push himself up. The strangled grunt that broke from his lips made it clear how much he paid for the effort, but still, he kept going.

Frowning, Saito went to stop him. "Stop trying to—"

"No!" Sano shoved him away. He'd managed to sit up, and was doing his best to get his good leg under him. His face was white as snow, and Saito could see the pupils of his hazel eyes dilating. He was pushing himself too hard.

"Sano, you're going to hurt yourself. Sit back down."

Sano had only just gotten on his feet, clinging to the wall for support. Saito could read his stance: all his weight was on his right foot, and he was only holding the wall with his left arm. As hard as he was trying, if he could've used either of his other limbs, he would've; it seemed reasonable to think that one or both were broken.

"I said _sit down_," Saito said sharply.

"And I said no!" Sano pushed off the wall, and for a single tenuous moment, Saito thought he would fall. But no—no, he didn't. He stumbled, but managed to keep his feet under him, if only by the skin of his teeth. "Damn it, I just wish you'd make up your mind."

"What are you talking about?" Because there was something in his voice that told Saito he wasn't speaking so much literally as…something else.

Sano shook his head, only to stop and hold it in his un-bandaged hand, like he was afraid it was going to fall off his shoulders. "I don't know," he said, and he sounded more…subdued. Like he'd lost some of his fire – or maybe he just didn't have the energy to keep it going anymore. "I just…one second, you're nice. You…you take care of me and shit, gettin' me dinner and clothes." He trailed off for a second, and Saito could've sworn he saw moisture gathering in those eyes. And when he hurriedly added, "Not that I need it or anything," his voice was wavering.

Saito's suspicions were confirmed when the first drop of moisture slipped from eye, forging a glistening path down his fever-flushed cheek. "It's like…it's like it's okay that…that I'm weak. But then I see your eyes – you think I'm pathetic, that I'm just a moron, and I'm not. I don't want to be. I'm strong – maybe not as strong as you or Kenshin, but—"

The rest was lost as Saito closed the distance between he and the rooster-head and, with a hand woven in his still-damp hair, captured his lips in a kiss

Sliding his hand from Sano's hair to rest along his jaw, he brushed his ungloved thumb lightly over the forming bruise. "Moron," he said, but there was no hiding the fondness in the word. "I am what I am, and you are what you are. I won't change, and I don't expect you to." He leaned in a little slower, and this time when he pressed his lips to Sano's, it wasn't to shut him up. It wasn't deep or passionate as they usually were; it was almost…chaste. But Saito knew as he drew back that it had conveyed the emotions and intent he wanted to. "I don't _want_ you to. Is that clear?"

A small smile pulled at Sano's lips, and another treacherous drop of moisture slipped down Sano's cheeks, to meet its end at Saito's calloused thumb. "I…"

And then, without another word, Sano collapsed.


	3. Chapter 3

With Sano unconscious – the moron had pushed himself too hard; he'd passed out on his feet after his little outburst – it had been relatively easy for Saito to slip his wiry frame out of his clothes. The wrappings, Saito simply dispatched with a knife. There was nothing that could be done for them, not with the blood and splinters and their already-worn condition.

He had gotten Sano settled on his futon and changed into a pair of jinbei shorts to keep his leg exposed. Though he imagined Sano wasn't the most modest, he was of the opinion that the doctor only needed to see what he intended to heal, and if Saito was a little possessive, then he had the right. Sano was his; the thought of a stranger pawing all over him, doctor or no, was maddening.

Said doctor had arrived not long after, and when he opened the tatami door of his home, Saito wondered if perhaps there was a god after all. If there was, surely it would've been laughing.

Standing on his porch was none other than Himura's friend, the woman doctor. Takani, her name was. Megumi Takani. Peddled drugs for Kanryu Takeda for a time, followed Himura about like a lost puppy. Or a fox.

Definitely a fox.

Needless to say, he wasn't pleased. Though, then again, she was responsible for keeping his moron alive after their first meeting – that shoulder wound would have taken someone of great skill to mend as cleanly as this one was.

As soon as she saw him, the doctor's eyes narrowed. "You—"

Saito cut her off. "Sanosuke is lying unconscious in the next room. Whatever you or your friends' opinions of me, this isn't the time to discuss them." And with that, Saito turned and padded back into his bedroom. It was the warmest room of the house, and as he hadn't had to worry about causing the man pain, he had moved Sano into there. Once the doctor, Megumi, was finished treating his wounds, he would shift Sano over onto his futon.

In the meantime, Sano was lying on a smaller futon a few feet away from his. Saito walked through the space he'd left between the two, leaning back against the wall and leaving Megumi ample space to do her work.

Something twisted deep in Saito's gut as Megumi dropped down beside his unconscious lover. Watching her hands brush his brow, her fingers press against his neck, all so very clinical…it was torture. He knew only basic physician's skills: enough to get by in battle, but nothing like what this woman did. In any other situation, she would have been the weaker one. She would've been the one of no use, the one standing by while others fulfilled their purposes.

But not this time.

This time, he could do nothing. This time, he had to sit and watch as the Takani woman examined each of his lover's injuries. As she probed and prodded the bruises, as she palpitated the swelling over his ribs and felt around his fingers. He had to stand by and watch as Sano's face, even in his sleep, twisted in pain from her ministrations.

His fingers dug into his crossed arms with the tension of it. He knew he was possessive, and to be helpless over what was his was not something he enjoyed. He despised the helplessness.

"His leg is broken," Megumi said.

Saito's grip tightened. "Then fix it. Don't waste time talking about it."

"It's not that simple. The break is recent – within the hour, I would say – but the bruising is older. Several hours, I think. It probably began as a crack in the bone."

"If you have a point, get to it quickly."

Megumi's eyes flared in the candlelight. "My point is, if there are other cracks like the one that fractured, trying to right his leg could do more harm than good." Her delicate brows furrowed, and she pressed her fingers into the swollen, discolored skin of Sano's left leg, just below his knee. "It has to be righted, preferably before the swelling gets any worse, but I will have to get the adjustment right."

"Then get it right," Saito snapped. His temper was rising, and frankly, he didn't care how difficult it was for her to do her job; he just wanted her to do it.

Megumi looked like she wanted to say something, but she seemed to think better of it at the last moment, closing her mouth and taking a breath. Her eyes roved over the leg, and she looked thoughtful for a long moment – too long.

But then, "Hold him," she said, a strength and determination in her voice such that even Saito was quick to comply. As he knelt next to Sano, a hand on his leg and on his shoulder, Megumi rolled up her sleeves and tied back her hair. "It's going to be a long night."

It was. But no, not just a long night. The _longest_ night.

It was a night spent watching, agonizingly useless, as Takani attempted to right all the wrongs that had been done to his moron's battered body. And when the bouts of uselessness were interrupted, when he could finally be of help, it was only when Sano had stumbled out of unconsciousness.

Those times were even worse.

To his very core, Sano was a proud man. But pain and the merciful administration of mind-dulling medicines had stripped away his barriers, and in their absence, he was every ounce the twenty-year-old _boy_ his body said he was. Screams ripped from his throat until they became ragged, and not-quite-lucid ramblings and whimpers and curses had torn Saito in ways he'd never thought possible.

"Hold him," Megumi would say again, because he, Saito Hajime, Wolf of Mibu and surviving member of the terrifying Shinsengumi, would freeze at the terrible sound. Megumi was, if not kind enough, then wise enough not to comment on his blunder beyond that, and one Saito had managed to secure Sano well enough, she would continue her work as if it had never been interrupted. As if she was deaf to the sounds of Sano's curses and cries…as if she was blind to the pain twisting Sano's face, the way his back arched off the futon, the way his arms strained with the effort of escaping a torment his addled mind couldn't understand….

And Saito was, if not kind enough, then wise enough not to comment on her tears.

He had never been one for affection, never one for coddling, but in those brief, horrifying bouts of consciousness, he did his best to comfort the younger man.

"Lie still, moron," he would say, the harshness of the words belied by the gentleness of his steady voice. "Breathe, Sano. Relax. You'll be fine; just lie still." It was hard to tell if Sano reacted more to those words, or to the physical comforts: Saito's thumbs brushing the feverish skin beneath his hands as he held him, his fingers carding through the sweat-dampened shock of hair on his head.

Whether he would gradually still or his eyes would simply roll back into his head with a sharp gasp, Sano would eventually lose his feeble grasp of consciousness and slip back into the blackness. Again and again, the process would repeat, and each time, Saito recognized the sound of a scream he would hear in his nightmares for years to come.

And finally, too many hours later, when the rising sun began to dispel the darkness of the night, Takani sat back on her heels and let out a breath that seemed to come from her very bones. With the last of the injuries mended and the last of the bandages masterfully tied, it seemed Takani had finally finished her work.

"He should be alright, now," she said, and it was hard to tell if it was relief coloring her voice, or fatigue. Perhaps a combination of the two.

Saito understood the sentiment, although he was considerably less forward with his expression. As Megumi set about gathering what of her supplies she hadn't used on the moron, Saito set about shifting him over to the other futon. Kneeling at his side, he slipped an arm under his knees and one behind his shoulders. His own strength and Sano's surprisingly light build made it easy enough to lift him from the futon in a bridal-style carry.

A soft groan broke from Sano's lips, and his face twisted lightly.

"Hush, Sano," Saito said, albeit almost tenderly as he carried him to the larger futon. Carefully, he knelt with Sano still in his arms, and then he lowered him onto the padded surface. Another groan, but this time, Saito smoothed away the lines of tension from Sano's too-young face. He pulled the blankets up over his wiry young lover with almost reverent care, stopping just short of smoothing out the blankets over his thin shoulders.

And only then because Takani was watching again.

"Get some sleep, moron," he said instead. Allowing himself one more brush of his hand through Sano's hair before he pushed himself to his feet and joined Megumi at the door to the room.

She was watching Sano as Saito approached, and she didn't turn to him when he arrived. "Why does he keep doing this to himself?"

"Short answer?" Saito said. "He's a moron."

That got Megumi's attention. He could see the rebuke forming on her lips, the righteous indignation flashing in her eyes, and decided to curtail the explosion of feminine fury.

"Long answer, however…" His eyes drifted back to the form on the futon, sleeping peacefully for all appearances. Saito could only hope it would last a while. "He has a good heart. He sees people in danger, and he can't help himself – he has to get involved, whether or not doing so puts himself in danger in the process. He is…noble." Though the word didn't seem to do him justice. Sano was so much more than that…there was so much behind that callous grin that so few ever saw.

When he managed to tear his eyes away, he found Megumi staring at him with softer eyes than had ever been pointed his direction by her.

"What?"

Megumi shook her head. "It's nothing," she said. "It's just…I don't think I've ever heard you compliment him before."

There was something almost accusatory in the comment, like it was _wrong_ that she had never heard something of the sort. Like it was strange that he didn't flaunt his affections around others with pointless little displays that would not only break from his character, but more likely than not anger Sanosuke. He knew he loved Sanosuke, and Sano knew it, too. For him, that was enough.

Besides, "He's still a moron." Taking on a canon, fighting an entire gang by himself…_moron_ was being generous. But he was Saito's moron, and that meant more to Saito than any shallow displays or empty words ever could. "Just tell me what he needs, and I'll see that he gets it."

Megumi's painted lips pursed. "Rest, more than anything," she said. "I have left enough of the medicines he needs to last you the day – give it to him mixed in water, ideally after a meal; either myself or Doctor Gensai will come by this afternoon to bring you more. Other than that, just do your best to keep him still and comfortable. Don't let him put any weight on his leg, and his right arm should stay in the sling." She paused for a moment, as if running through a mental list to see if she had touched every line, until finally, she nodded. "If you have any more questions, send a messenger."

Preferably, next time, he would have money on hand.

"Very well," Saito said. Gesturing through the door, he gave a light tip of his head to subtly send her on her way. She took the hint – that, or she had already been on the path of her own volition – and with her medicine box in one hand, she retreated through the house. Just before she made it to the door, though, Saito's conscience got the best of him. "Takani."

Megumi turned, a brow arched curiously.

As much as he hated the expression, Saito swallowed his pride. Without this woman, Sano could have died; he at least owed her the decency of good manners. "Thank you," he said.

At that, a small smile pulled at Megumi's lips. "He means a lot to me, too, Saito. To all of us." The smile became a smirk, and her eyes flashed in a way that suggested less the fox and more the tigress protecting her cub. "Take care of him," she said, and then she left.

As if she'd needed to say anything at all.

Saito waited until the door had slid closed again to turn, padding back into his room on socked feet to stand by the empty side of the futon. For a moment, he contemplated the bento box still sitting, no doubt cold, in the other room. However, no more than seconds had passed before he realized, after that night's ordeal, his body's need for rest far outweighed its need for food.

Careful not to disturb his sleeping lover, Saito lowered himself onto the futon next to Sano. He lay down on his side, facing Sano with his elbow propped and resting his head on his hand. There would be little sleep that morning, with the beams of the sun pouring through the rice paper, but at the very least, he could relax knowing Sano had made it through the night.

And as he lay there, eyes fixed on the peace of Sano's bruised face, he could only wonder what the coming day would bring.


	4. Chapter 4

Saito never managed more than a light doze that morning, and by the time afternoon rolled around, he decided any further attempts were pointless. He had things he could be doing, and as much as he would like to stay there with Sano, watching over him, he had to admit to himself that there was little he could do for him. He could rewet the cloth on his brow, an effort to combat the fever that had reddened Sano's cheeks in the night, but that was really the extent of his powers.

But no, that wasn't entirely true.

He was cleaning in the main room, making a breakfast of the salvageable parts of the bento boxes and disposing of the rest, when a sound piqued his interest. He knew its source immediately, and he wasted no time dropping everything at hand and padding into his bedroom.

Sure enough, there lay Sano on the futon. He was sleeping; however, the sleep was far from peaceful. As Saito approached, the sounds of soft mutters and groans grew louder, and he could see Sano shifting beneath the covers. His face was twisted in a grimace, his head dug back into the pillow.

It was an expression of pain.

Saito's insides twisted strangely at the sight. He was used to seeing pain. He was used to seeing _Sano's_ pain, even, and yet no matter how many times he had seen it, this young man in front of him never failed to illicit that same unprecedented sympathy. He positively ached with it, and it drove him forward to kneel beside his young lover. Almost automatically, his hand stretched out to rest on Sano's brow, sliding down to caress his strong, lightly-stubbled jaw.

"You're okay," he said with a gentleness in his voice foreign to even him. With his thumb, he brushed away the lines of tension on Sano's face, mindful of the bruising and swelling that had overtaken his eye.

"Sai…to…?"

To Saito's surprise, Sano's other eye had peeled open just a sliver. The hazel showing through was glazed over, clouded with sleep and fatigue and, more likely than not, the medication Megumi had given to him, but it was still there. It still sent a lance through Saito's chest.

He recovered quickly, though.

"Who were you expecting?" he said dryly.

If possible, the sliver of Sano's eye narrowed. "I don'…" When he couldn't seem to find the words he was looking for, he seemed to decide that getting up was the next best course of action.

Saito disagreed. And being that he was the most coherent of the two – that is, the _only_ coherent of the two – he had no seeing to it that his will was enacted. He dropped a hand to Sano's bare shoulder and applied just enough pressure to keep him to the mat.

"Sit still, moron." But at Sano's wince, he subsided a bit. "You shouldn't be moving yet. Just calm down…go back to sleep."

"Can't," was Sano's weak, raspy reply. He didn't say anything more, but the way he averted his good eye was telling.

"The pain is bad." It wasn't a question; it didn't need to be. And the way Sano's lips curled miserably were all the answer Saito needed. Sano was in pain, despite the medicine. With wounds like his, how could he not be? However, Saito was no doctor. He could not give him more medicine, he could not make the wounds heal.

But then, he wasn't _entirely _useless.

"Come here," he said, and as carefully as he could, he lifted Sano's shoulders from the bed and slid in behind him. He let the younger man's head come to rest in his lap, and he could feel the tension in his shoulders as he stilled against him. "Relax."

"I—"

Saito silenced the protest with his finger on Sano's cracked lips. "Shh, Sano. Just close your eyes."

That, it seemed, Sano could do. With some small amount of hesitation, he let his good eye slide closed. The other had been too swollen to open in the first place, and Saito rewarded his compliance with a hum of approval. Once Sano was situated, Saito picked up the rag from the futon where it had fallen in Sano's squirming. One-handed, he dipped it in the bin of chilled water, wringing it out before he placed it back across Sano's brow.

Sano winced. The cool rag was no doubt stark against the heat of his fever, but even so, Saito didn't allow him try to shake it off.

"Don't be a child; your fever still hasn't broken," Saito said. He knew the words sounded sharp, sharper than he'd meant them to, but rather than apologizing, he let his hands fall to Sano's temples. "Just try to bear it. It's for your own good."

A soft, unhappy noise broke from Sano's throat, but he didn't make any moves to shift again. How much of that was obedience, though, and how much of that was the pain, Saito couldn't tell. The sweat beading on his young face and the tightness in his jaw did make him wonder, though.

"I know it hurts." And knowing it was killing him – knowing it, and having nothing he could do to fix it. He could only wait, and hope to provide his young lover some measure of, if not relief, then at least comfort. "Gensai will come soon with more medicine."

Sano grunted an acknowledgment, only to wince as the sound seemed to jar his abused ribs. "Fine," he managed to say. "'m fine."

The words, despite everything, brought a fond smile to Saito's face. Even in so much pain, even battered and barely conscious, Sanosuke was so… "Stubborn."

A hint of a smile pulled at Sano's lips in turn, and he let his head loll a little to rest against Saito's hand. "N…narrow-eyed…bastard."

"Stop talking, moron." Bending until his back protested, he pressed a kiss to Sano's nose – strangely, the only part of him that wasn't some measure of bruised or broken. "And try to get some sleep." He hadn't forgotten Sano's earlier protests, but he couldn't miss the fatigue that seemed to be physically weighing the young man down, either. Rest, Megumi had said. He needed to rest.

And it seemed as though Sano – or, at the very least, Sano's body – agreed with him. Slowly, he felt the tension ease out of Sano's shoulders. Under Saito's tender ministrations, tracing the lines of Sano's face until they faded away, Sano began to drift. His breathing, shallow as it was from his fever and his ribs, evened out, and at last, Saito realized he had drifted off.

Saito didn't leave immediately. It wasn't as though he was afraid doing so would rouse his sleeping lover; Sano could sleep through a tsunami, and he wasn't precisely clumsy. Rather, he couldn't seem to find a reason to do so. How could cleaning and paperwork compare to holding his moron? How could he leave him willingly, when just that night, he'd been afraid – yes, truly, he had been _afraid_ – that he might lose him?

So, he stayed. As feeling left his legs, as old battle wounds stiffened and creaked, he stayed, staring down at the face he had long since committed to memory. He watched him sleep, watched the rise and fall of his chest with a sort of reverence, never so grateful for anything in his life as he was for that one simple sight.

It was something he'd felt before. Back in Shishio's hideout, when that anarchist bastard had sent his Sano flying into that building. How still he'd been…how broken his body had seemed as he lay there, limp and seemingly lifeless. It was only when he'd seen those deceptively thin shoulders rise in a shuttering breath that he himself had remembered how to breathe. He'd almost lost him, then; he'd almost lost him since. But no matter how many times it happened, or even perhaps _more_ each time it happened, that feeling was there:

Relief.

Bone-crushing, mind-blowing _relief_.

"Moron…." Saito said softly, but there was a smile on his face. Even he didn't know if he meant Sano…

Or if _he_ was the moron, after all.


End file.
